Ripples
Inside my head is suffering and shame
Laughing with the connections
The pleasure and the pain
Stories well known played silently
In the cycle of my memories
Unique to me
A closed book some might say
Never to be shared at least not today
In its purest form it may be art
But that would need honesty
And a trip back to the start
I don't have the strength
Can't administer the pain
The book remains unwritten
While life is in their veins
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